


Slippery When

by Dbaw3



Series: Focal Point [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Watersports, Werewolves are kinky, piss drinking, stilinskicest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 18:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dbaw3/pseuds/Dbaw3
Summary: Isaac has a kink.It's not John's kink, but he's willing to do what he must to his son to help the Pack.





	Slippery When

John was home, doing paperwork as usual, when Stiles slammed through the front door. Also, as usual.

The mutterings and grumblings were only slightly unusual. John sat back and waited for an explanation as Stiles opened the fridge door, still muttering and glaring at the contents as if they insulted him personally, then grabbed a bottle of water. Slamming the fridge door, he then opened up one of the cupboards beside the fridge and pulled down a glass.

Stomping over to John, Stiles said with a scowl, holding out both glass and water, “I need you to pee in this glass.”

John raised his eyebrow, but didn’t reach for either item. “I know a lot of people would question my parenting skills, but I think if one of us was going to start random drug testing…”

Stiles interrupted him with a sigh. “It’s for Isaac,” as if that were explanation enough, and shook both the glass and the bottle, expecting John to take them.

John still didn’t reach for them. “Isaac wants me to pee in a glass,” he said slowly.

Stiles rolled his eyes and put the glass and bottle down on the table in front of John, and flopped into one of the other chairs. “No, Isaac wants to piss in my mouth, but I want to try it first.”

John blinked. While they’d explained to him that Stiles, as the Pack Focal Point, would need to be able to meet all the desires of the male members of the Pack, there’d really not been much in the way of kink, as far as what John had seen so far. Okay, aside from him fucking his own son, and the line-up that occasionally happened outside of his son’s room (or the living room or the kitchen or whichever room Stiles happened to be in at a time) of Pack members waiting to use him as a cum-dump.

Aside from that, very little kink.

“Are you sure…?” John asked, wrinkling his nose.

Stiles waved a negligent hand. “Human urine is sterile, Dad, it’s not going to hurt me,” he said casually, and of course Stiles would know that. “I just told Isaac I had to get used to the idea before I let him actually do it, so I thought no time like the present.” He waved again at the items in front of John. “Pee away.”

John looked at the glass, which was a highball, and the full water bottle in front of him for a moment. This wasn’t ever something he’d thought about, and this certainly didn’t feel particularly sexy at the moment, but… “Um, how much are you wanting…now?” he asked cautiously.

Stiles waved his hand again. “Whatever you’ve got is fine. Just thought it might work better this way the first time, and I didn’t know if you’d drunk enough water today.” Stiles gave him a sudden, critical look. “You’ve been drinking water today, right? Not just that awful station coffee?”

John didn’t answer, but reached for the water bottle instead, not needing a lecture on taking care of himself right now. When he’d downed half of it, he reached for the glass, then hesitated again. “You know, you don’t have to…” he started, but was interrupted again by Stiles sighing.

“I know, Dad: I can say no, and I won’t let anyone touch me in my bathing suit area I don’t want to,” Stiles said, sarcastically if fondly.

John snorted and mumbled about how EVERYONE was allowed to touch Stiles in his bathing suit area, which earned him a glare, but he reached for the glass.

It might not have been his kink, but the idea of Stiles doing this just because one of the Pack asked, the idea of Stiles taking something else of John inside of him had him at least half hard as he pulled his dick from his pants and aimed it at the glass. He looked up to see Stiles watching somewhat critically if intently. John would feel a little nervous, not used to being watched like this, but Stiles licked his lips. John had no idea if it was just a reflex to seeing his cock–or any cock, since Stiles was obviously a fucking dick hound, at least for the Pack–or if it was a reaction to thinking about what John was about to do.

When he started pissing, Stiles’ lips parted slightly as he watched. John didn’t fill the glass, but he did get about ¾ of it full before he stopped and shook off the last drops. He held out the warm glass back to Stiles and waited.

Stiles took it and eyed it critically, like a wine connoisseur checking for the color and clarity. (Or a doctor checking to make sure he wasn’t drinking too much coffee, but he didn’t want to think of that right now.) With a deep breath, he lifted the glass at his father and brought it to his lips to drink.

Stiles scrunched up his nose at the first taste, but while John watched, he gulped down the rest until the glass was empty and he set it down.

“Well?” John asked, feeling slightly breathless.

“I’ve had worse,” he said frankly, then gave John a side-eye. “Though I’m sure it would taste better if you hadn’t had so much station coffee,” he added.

John tried to look innocent, but then Stiles’ face turned distinctly teasing.

“Want help with that, Daddy,” he nearly cooed, dropping to his knees. Which was when John realized that he was still holding his dick, which was now almost entirely hard as he stroked it, apparently more turned on than he realized.

“Yeah, actually,” and reached for his son’s head to put him to work.

*

Over the last month, John had come to realize that the Pack making Stiles their bitch was an excellent idea. One, because Stiles, his beloved son, was a complete slut for cock. He honestly never seemed to be tired of it, and whether that was his natural inclination or something to do with the spell, John was never going to be 100% sure of, no matter how often Deaton assured him it only enhanced Stiles’ sex drive, not altered his preferences.

The other reason was that Stiles was Stiles, and he could say no to anything but a challenge. In fact, he wouldn’t just say yes to any challenge, he’d jump in with both feet and tell it to fuck off.

Once Stiles had decided to meet Isaac’s request, John found he couldn’t turn around without being offered either a glass of water or an empty bottle or glass to pee into. Stiles may not have started with a taste for urine, but he was going to make sure he developed one. He started drinking a glass of piss with every meal if there was anything left from John, then started carrying around bottles of it throughout the day.

Fortunately, since John was only one man and no matter how much water he drank there was a limit to his supply, Stiles had more “sources” to tap, so to speak. The Pack began bringing over their own water bottles filled with pale yellow liquid for Stiles’ stash. After the second time John reached into the fridge absently and nearly drank a bottle of very-much-not-water, John insisted he keep his own drinks separate in the fridge and clearly labeled.

The Pack even started to make a game of it, handing Stiles an anonymous bottle and trying to get him to identify who the piss belonged to. He got surprisingly good at it, and John noticed that Isaac seemed to get particularly excited when Stiles compared two glasses and was able to correctly identify Liam’s and Scott’s distinct “blends.” Isaac, in fact, didn’t even wait for the group’s laughing cheering to die down before he was fucking into Stiles’ face with vigor and intent.

John watched it all with great bemusement, but figured if everyone was having a good time, it was fine by him.

Then one morning Stiles got into the shower with him.

“Seriously, kid, if you think I can go again that quickly–” John started to say when Stiles dropped to his knees in front of him.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Not that, Dad. I just thought…you didn’t pee yet this morning, so…” he trailed off, sounding uncharacteristically shy.

John looked down at his son, waiting for him, mouth open, and he put the head of his soft dick into his son’s mouth.

He started slow, trying not to overwhelm Stiles with this first attempt. He watched carefully at first, keeping an eye on Stiles for any sign of distress or disgust. But he just looked up at John, eyes trusting and waiting. Then he swallowed.

John kept up a steady stream and eventually threw back his head and sighed in relief, eyes closing. He really had needed to go, after all. This didn’t feel particularly sexual for him, but it was oddly more intimate than the sex they’d had earlier. One more part of him that Stiles would take. One more barrier down along with all the others.

When the stream turned into a trickle, John opened his eyes again and looked down at his son. With his last spurt (he always had to give about two after the main pissing was done), Stiles sucked gently to get the last out of him, as if chasing the last of a milkshake through a straw, then looked up at him with such a look of pride, John ruffled his hair, like he did when Stiles was younger and had mastered riding his bike.

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles said, got up, and left the shower.

And that set a new pattern. John still took extra empty bottles (now clearly labeled “Stiles” on them) to work in case he had a need to urinate during the day, but when he was home, if he looked like he was remotely ready, Stiles would ask him to pee in his mouth directly.

John could only assume Isaac found it a rousing success, as well. He noticed the boy went from visiting once or twice a week (plus, whatever went on when the whole pack got together) to stopping by at least once every day, usually in the morning. Sometimes it was before Stiles came down for breakfast, but more than once, he’d come by after they sat down at the table. Isaac would come into the kitchen with a “Morning, Sheriff,” already unzipping his jeans, and stick his semi-hard cock into Stiles’ mouth. He’d then sigh, that deep pleasured-relief sigh that came with the first piss of the morning as he stood there, Stiles gulping down everything Isaac gave him. Sometimes it would segue into a blowjob, sometimes Isaac would just tuck himself back in give a wave and leave, all without a word to Stiles. And Stiles would grumble into his cereal, still half-asleep.

It kind of came to a head–so to speak–one day when the whole pack was gathered in his living room. Scott was stretched on the floor, propped up against so that Stiles could be turned towards the TV to watch the movie even while he nursed gently on Scott’s dick. A few minutes before, Kira and Lydia had gone upstairs to the bathroom to discuss something to do with hair or something–John tried not to ask too many questions when women were going to the bathroom together–followed by much pouting from Scott, who had missed his girlfriend being cuddled up to him, even with his best friend sucking lazily on his dick.

None of which would have been a problem, but Liam had tried to go up to the bathroom. His knocks were quickly rejected by angry female voices until Jackson yelled up, without taking his eyes off the screen, “Dude, pee in one of Stilinski’s bottles like the rest of us.”

Liam came back into the room, doing a little “can’t hold it” dance, and Stiles rolled his eyes as he pulled himself off of Scott’s dick. “Or just come over here, and I’ll take care of it,” he said.

Liam stopped for a second. “You sure you don’t mind?” he asked timidly.

“I’ve been chugging your juice down for weeks, man, I think I can help you out now,” Stiles answered, and knelt up enough to be level with Liam’s crotch, while still keeping one hand on Scott’s spit-wet, mostly limp cock.

Apparently that was enough for the rather desperate Liam, and he quickly took position in front of Stiles while unzipping his jeans. His sigh of relief was almost simultaneous with Stiles’ starting to gulp down what was being offered.

“Can you pull back just a little, Liam?” Isaac asked slightly breathless from the other end of the couch. John noticed from where he was sitting that Isaac was leaning forward to get a better look, even as he had a hand down the front of his own pants, obviously turned on to see other people using Stiles this way.

“Not in the living room, please,” John insisted.

Jackson, Scott, and Boyd, still enthralled by the movie, shushed them all.

John had gotten used to Stiles demanding he let Stiles drink from him directly, but now everyone was giving Stiles drinks “from the tap,” so to speak. And Stiles admitted, he both enjoyed it more this way and liked the taste better.

A few days after the incident with Liam, the group was gathered back at the house in his living room. John was only half paying attention to what was going on in the living room as he worked on his paperwork, but was keeping one eye on things as Peter had Stiles bent over a table, fucking him roughly from behind. (John never trusted Peter that much to be alone with his son, and the others seemed to agree. Peter didn’t seem to mind the audience, and he never did anything so over the line anyone could actually respond to him, but everything seemed to be geared towards either controlling or humiliating Stiles just enough that it put them all on edge. John would have probably objected anyway, except Stiles seemed just that little bit harder after getting fucked by Peter.) He seemed to be finished and appeared to be resting inside of Stiles while he got his breath back, and John felt the tension leaving him.

That is until Stiles yelped, “What the fuck?” and Derek and Scott both growled simultaneously.

John snapped his head up in time to see Peter, ignoring them all, smile and sigh, then say, “Ah, the pause that refreshes.”

“Are you seriously pissing up my ass?” Stiles yelped.

Peter thrust his pelvis slightly forward, and looked at a growling Scott incredulously. “One end or the other, what’s the difference?” he asked innocently.

John thought there might have been bloodshed, except Stiles had a very loud and embarrassed-looking climax at the same time Peter sighed again, as if he’d been holding his piss in all day.

When Stiles had recovered and Peter was apparently done, he slapped Stiles on his butt (Stiles jerked, and John noticed his post-orgasm shrinking dick twitched), and said, “Tighten up,” before pulling out of Stiles’ ass.

Stiles didn’t spill a drop, for which Peter gave another approving slap to Stiles’s ass, then said, “Take that to the other toilet for me,” and moved to sit down as if all of this was normal.

Stiles glared at him, but quickly moved to the bathroom to relieve himself.

As with most things Peter did to Stiles, John was torn between shooting him in the face and wanting to go in another room to jerk off. The deciding factor was how Stiles was already semi-hard again, his dick waving back and forth as he trotted towards the bathroom.

*

Life moved on, and Stiles started his senior year, and the werewolf sex-a-thon which seemed to have become a central focus of their lives became more or less normal, with intermittent pauses for creature-of-the-week occurrences. John did notice, as Derek and Deaton both assured him would happen, that the Pack seemed to be working better together, seemed to be arguing less, and able to get along with far less bickering or at least less seriousness to their bickering.

John had his own small little worldview shift one morning, months later, when he woke up to find himself alone in bed. Not that unusual, even now: Stiles slept with him more often than not, but on many evenings, he’d end up in his own bed if one of the Pack were visiting late or if one of them just needed more sleep. (Stiles was still the most sprawling sleeper that John had ever seen, and that had not changed since he was a kid.) Yawning widely, John got up and shuffled to Stiles’ room where his son was sleeping, and shook him awake.

John yawned again as he pulled down the front of his pajamas, then inserted his dick into his son’s mouth before letting loose with his morning piss. He honestly hoped he could make it downstairs to the coffeepot without killing himself, he was having such a hard time opening his eyes, he thought to himself as he gave the last two squirts of his piss to his son before patting him on the cheek and putting himself away.

“Breakfast in 10,” John said to Stiles over his shoulder as he left the room.

He stopped half way down the stairs before he realized what he’d done.

That wasn’t about sex. That wasn’t about helping Stiles meet the Pack’s “needs.” That was John using his son, like he would a urinal in a men’s room.

And fuck if that didn’t replace his morning piss hard-on with a real one.

He walked slowly back to Stiles’ room, bent on throwing himself on his son’s mercy. He may have gone along with this as part of his own dark fantasies about his son, but he’d never really acknowledged before that, no matter what else turned him on or didn’t, what he really liked was using Stiles, and watching other people use him. What the fuck kind of monster did that make him?

As he got to Stiles’ door and looked into his room, John’s guilty, angry erection gave a twist.

Whatever kind of monster he was, John found himself rationalizing, as he squeezed his own erection through his sleep pants, it was one similar to his son, since Stiles was currently beating off in the middle of his bed, sheets down around his ankles.

“You fucking dirty slut,” John said, as he lowered his pants down to let his dick spring free. “Does my bitch like being the Pack toilet?”

Stiles whimpered and rubbed his dick faster. “Yes, Daddy,” he whimpered.

Fuck his semi-moral dilemmas, John thought to himself as he walked over to his violently masturbating son. If he enjoyed his son being used, he could also admit his son enjoyed it, too. Might as well go to hell in style.

John stopped at the head of Stiles’ bed, standing over Stiles’ face as he reached over and opened his mouth with his left hand, even as he continued to jerk himself off with the right. “That’s right, open that urinal mouth for me. I’m going to just jerk off into it like I would any toilet.”

Stiles whined and opened his mouth wider, as if giving John a better target for his cum, and John felt his own orgasm building, even as he muttered all sorts of demeaning filth at his son. But it wasn’t until Stiles came across his own hand and stomach, his mouth staying open even as he moaned from deep in his throat that John's orgasm hit.

John supposed he could be proud that he got every last bit of his cum into Stiles’ open mouth.

He collapsed across Stiles’ bed, right beside his panting son, while trying to get his own breath back.

“We’re so fucking sick, Stiles,” John said, but with very little recrimination in his own voice.

Stiles thrust a fist into the air, still panting. “Go, Team Stilinski,” before letting his hand fall back to the bed.

*

John was just getting off his early shift when he came home to find a number of cars parked in and around his driveway. Not unusual: Stiles had said the Pack was planning to come over, and Stiles would have the grill set up, since it had been so unseasonably warm in September. He heard laughter and a lot of talk coming from the back yard, and smiled to himself, even as he stopped a minute to lock up his service piece in the gun safe.

He stopped, though, when he stepped out his backdoor and saw the tableau awaiting him.

Jackson, Scott, and Isaac were all standing in profile to the porch, while the others stood on the porch shouting encouragement and/or cat-calls to each contestant. About 10 feet away was Stiles, mouth open and laughing, but trying to be still as possible as the others tried to piss into his mouth from a distance. (John noted that Scott seemed to have the best aim, while Jackson had more power, actually overshooting stiles by quite a lot. Isaac, on the other hand, seemed to be having problems pissing through his very hard erection.)

“They’ve been at it for a while,” Derek said, a bemused look on his face, from where he was watching events on the porch swing. “They’re moving Stiles back a few feet at a time for each round.”

John wiped his hand across his face and resisted just saying “Kids,” out loud. Instead, he turned back to go into the house again.

“I’m going to change out of my uniform,” he said over the laughing and Stiles standing up and cat calling, even as he moved a few feet further away from the contestants, piss dripping from his hair and shirt. “And make sure they rinse him off with the garden hose before he comes back inside,” he said, even as Derek nodded and turned back to the next “round.”

John shook his head as he went up the stairs. He was glad he put in that extra high privacy fence.


End file.
